


Into the Fire Too Soon

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bottom Sam, Caring Dean, Dom Dean, Fire, M/M, Post-Hell, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safeword Use, Sub Sam, Top Dean, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam and Dean haven't had sex since before Hell, and now they're trying to ease back into it. Sam keeps pushing for more, for what they had before. But does he bite off more than he can chew?





	

“Dean, I’ll be okay, I promise,” Sam assured him for the millionth time. Dean grimaced, meeting his gaze.

 

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Sam.”

 

“Dude, come on, you’ve been prepping me for half an hour. I’m half soft. Just – kiss me and get inside me before you come up with some other excuse why we have to wait?” Sam nearly pleaded, tugging Dean’s head down into a kiss.

 

It’d been over a year since Sam or Dean had felt comfortable in this situation with one another. With the whole Apocalypse thing, Sam’s vacation in Hell, and the entire fiasco with the soulless version of Sam, it wasn’t that they’d had much opportunity.

 

Before the Apocalypse, Sam and Dean had had a great sex life. Diverse, kinky enough to make a hooker blush at times, and generally very fulfilling. But recently it’d been nervous touches and shy smiles. Dean was afraid of hurting Sam, and Sam was afraid Dean didn’t want him any longer.

 

It wasn’t that they didn’t _want_ each other, really. The soulless version of Sam had had no interest in Dean – that was a big clue for him that something was wrong with Sam, but now that Sam was back, and made it clear from day one that he wanted to rekindle what they’d had.

 

Dean kept procrastinating though. Their first night back together – the first that they could make love, that was – Dean had insisted he shower and shave – make himself look good for Sam – but had taken so long in the shower that Sam couldn’t stay awake. Other excuses ranged from stomach aches to long days to, believe it or not, headaches.

 

Finally, Sam had gotten to the point that he was sick of the procrastination. He’d shoved Dean up against the wall and taken him into his mouth, forcing Dean to react.

 

Which is how they ended up here, Dean panting against Sam’s shoulder as Sam arched against him, their bodies thrusting in tandem. Sam came with Dean’s name on his lips, his nails biting crescents into Dean’s shoulders. His vision whited out right around the time Dean screamed for him, muffling his cries into Sam’s neck as he came deep inside him.

 

When they’d recovered enough to move, Sam playfully punched Dean’s upper arm. “Told you I wouldn’t break, jerk.”

 

“You broke me, bitch,” Dean mumbled, rolling off him with a grunt. Sam rose and padded to the bathroom, taking a moment to clean himself up before returning with a warm washcloth to wipe Dean’s stomach clean of his come.

 

“Thank you though, Dean. I needed that.”

 

“Needed it? What am I, a hooker?” Dean mumbled, one arm flung over his eyes. Sam chuckled, swatting his thigh with the wet cloth.

 

“You could be, if you wanted,” He teased. Dean peeked out from under his arm and reached up, fisting Sam’s hair and dragging him into a rough kiss.

 

***

 

Things went smoothly for a few weeks from that point. Making love pretty regularly – or just lying in each other’s arms when they were too sore or tired to have sex. But – if Sam could be honest – it was boring. He missed the experimentation they’d done before – the fun they had learning about new sexual activities and making little lists to try.

 

Knowing Dean would live like this forever, just so he wouldn’t risk _hurting_ Sam again, Sam took things into his own hands. He cornered Dean one evening when Dean was about to get into the shower.

 

“I miss the times you tied me up,” He said from the bed, hands behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean asked, stopping in front of the bathroom door.

 

“I miss you tying me up. And being rough with me. And using gags and cock rings and plugs on me. I miss us being kinky,” he hesitated then, “we’re like boring old folks now.”

 

"Aw come on, Sam. You know why we're takin' it slow."

 

"I do, but I also think I know my limits. I want more." He wet his lips before smiling softly. "You'll give me what I need, won't you, De?" He let his hands slip down over his chest, dragging them slowly until he reached his jeans. Sam undid them, forcing a hand inside to knead his crotch. "Won't you?" He repeated, meeting Dean's gaze.

 

Dean's jaw dropped a little, his hand shifting immediately to pull his shirt a little further over his crotch. "S-- Seduction won't work here, Sammy."

 

"Of course it will," Sam said simply, wiggling out of his jeans. He undid his flannel and shrugged it off, leaving himself in just his boxers and undershirt.

 

"How do you know that?" Dean breathed, trying to seem tough.

 

"Because you know I can find someone who will give me what I need. I don't want to, but we've always been open with our relationship. I'll take advantage of that."

 

Dean winced like he'd been slapped. "Don't even joke about that, Sam. You know I hate the idea of you with anyone else."

 

Sam began to stroke himself lazily through the opening in his boxers. "Then come here. Show me I'm still interesting to you."

 

"What about the wall? I don't wanna risk doing something that'll trigger a memory," Dean defended, but approached Sam on the bed, sitting next to him.

 

"Safe words are still in play, De. And I highly doubt that, whatever happened in the cage, Michael or Lucifer or whoever, believed in safe and consensual. I don't know how it could trigger anything. Please can we just try?" Sam offered his best puppy dog look and Dean groaned, laying over him.

 

"I hate that expression," he mumbled before pecking Sam's mouth.

 

"But you love me," Sam responded simply, hooking his hands around Dean's hips.

 

"Bet your sweet ass I do," Dean shot back, burying his nose in Sam's neck as he ground his hips against Sam's.

 

“You’ll do it?” Sam clarified – fingers digging into Dean’s ass.

 

“Yeah, Sammy, I’ll do it if you think you’re ready.” Sam nodded eagerly.

 

“I am.”

 

Dean nodded, moving off the bed. He sighed, letting his eyes roam the expanse of his brother’s body. “Come on and shower with me, then we’ll get started.”

 

“Can’t we start now?” Sam pleaded, reaching out and snagging a belt loop on Dean’s jeans. He tugged him a little closer to the bed. “You’re just gonna keep finding excuses to back out if we do anything else.”

  
“I will not,” Dean huffed, crossing his arms. He refused to meet Sam’s eyes though, a clear indicator of his lying.

 

“Liar,” Sam called him out, sitting up and grabbing his shirt. He yanked Dean onto the bed, pinning him on his back.

 

“I thought _you_ wanted to be tied up, Sammy.”

 

“Figure I’ll have to piss you off a little, seeing as you won’t just _do_ it.”

 

“I just wanna make sure you’re ready,” Dean defended again, but weaker: he’d missed this just as much as Sam did. Honestly he'd been thinking of a way to bring it up to Sam, but didn't know how.

 

Dean groaned at the hot calloused touch of Sam's hands, heating his body everywhere they went as Sam lifted his shirt, his cock giving a throb of pleasure in the confines of his suddenly uncomfortably tight jeans. He attempted to speak, but all that came out was a breathy whine. He grasped Sam’s hands in a tight grip, letting their gazes meet before smirking. He flipped Sam over easily before clenching his knees at Sam’s hips, pinning him.

 

Leaning to the left proved to be a challenge: Sam was putting up a helluva fight. Dean finally snagged his shirt and used it to secure Sam’s hands to the headboard.

 

“Stay,” He commanded in his best condescending voice. Par for the course, Sam stuck his tongue out, rolling his eyes, but he let himself relax against the pillow while Dean rose, stripping them both completely.

 

Their foreplay was rough and almost nonexistent, both too eager to get started on the real fun. Dean made Sam go over the safewords at least ten times, concerned for him even though Sam assured him it was all okay again and again.

 

And it began. Simple as that. They fell into their playtime just like they’d never stopped. It worked – they worked together – as they had been for years.

 

Sam was on his stomach, ass pushed out and up by a stack of pillows. His cock was pressed downward against them, drooling a line of precome onto the offwhite fabric. His arms were bound to each side of the headboard with handcuffs, handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists to keep the metal from biting into his skin too deeply. His eyes were covered with another handkerchief, blocking out all sight.

 

Dean was standing at the foot of the bed, securing Sam’s ankles with a piece of rope. He tied it so Sam could pull himself up onto his knees and chest, but no farther. He was listening to Sam’s breathing, noticing when it increased and caught. It was at those times he spoke, low and calm, reminding Sam that it was him – Dean – his big brother – and he was safe. Just checking in, he’d always say, passing it off as regular play.

 

They never used to have to be this careful, but Dean didn’t want to take any chances. He understood where Sam was coming from; he missed their experimentation as well, but he hated risking Sam’s sanity. But Sam had begged. And what baby brother wants, baby brother gets.

 

**

 

Sam was freaking out. Dean had finished securing his legs to the bed nearly ten minutes ago. Afterwards, he’d walked away. Sam had heard the other bed creak and could still hear Dean’s breathing so he knew his brother was still close, probably sitting on the next bed, watching him. Denial of pleasure used to be one of Sam’s favorite types of play. Dean would tie him up and leave him hard and needy for hours sometimes, just watching, masturbating, sometimes talking dirty. Sam loved feeling helpless for Dean, completely in his control.

 

But this was different. It shouldn’t have been – Dean was doing nothing different. But it felt different. It felt terrifying. Sam’s breath sped up.

 

“Dean—“

 

“I’m right here, Sammy. You okay?”

 

“Come touch me, please. I—Yellow.”

 

Dean was next to him in the space of a heartbeat. His mouth was all over Sam’s shoulders, rubbing his back and whispering softly into Sam’s ear to relax, it was safe, it was just Dean. They were alone – nothing bad going on.

 

Much to Sam’s surprise – it worked. He relaxed under Dean’s touches and nodded. “I think—I think we should move on. What else did you want to do to me tonight?” Sam whispered.

 

Dean’s mouth curled into a soft smile against his shoulder. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, baby brother,” He nearly purred.

 

Sam huffed a half annoyed laugh. "Jerk."

 

"My bitch," Dean whispered, a term of endearment for Sam. He slid his hands over Sam’s smooth back, sending tingles straight to Sam’s cock. 

 

Sam felt Dean rise from the bed and heard one of their duffel bags rustling. “Dean?”

 

“I got you Sam, I’ll be right back.”

 

He returned, as promised, in a few short minutes. Sam scowled a little when he heard the clink of what sounded like Dean’s Zippo.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Hush, Sammy. It’s something you like,” Dean said sternly.

 

Sam took a nervous breath. He knew he had an out; Dean would never push him too far. But he wanted to be pushed. It's been too long, and he was tired of pussyfooting around things like this.

 

The first dribble of hot wax along his spine had Sam jerking in his binds. 

 

Dean placed a firm hand on his lower back, not letting it lift too far from the bed. He dribbled another line of hot wax, then brought the candle down until the heat of the flame pinked the skin closest to it.

 

Sam drew in a shaky breath at that, his entire body breaking into a cold sweat. He tried to focus on Dean's hand and calm breathing, to keep from panicking. 

 

The heat moved away and another dribble of wax splashed onto Sam's quivering back. Then the heat again. 

 

Dean was alternating the two, trying to make the differing sensations interesting for Sam. They'd played with wax and heat before, but not since Hell. 

 

Now it was just too much. Sam could feel his heart pounding in his throat, his hands shaking. He could smell it. Not real, it wasn’t real, he kept reminding himself. But he could smell his flesh burning, the acrid stench of sulfur and the pain, oh God, the pain as raw hellfire was dragged across his flesh—

 

“ _Red!_ ”

 

Sam startled himself with the force of his shout. He heard a scrambling behind him and the blindfold was ripped away quickly. He looked up to see Dean slicing the fabric on his wrists, moving quickly to free his legs. He tossed the knife to the floor and scooped the still shaking Sam into his arms.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sammy.”

 

Sam slumped against Dean, inhaling his scent deeply in an effort to calm himself. “Don’t be – I—I’m sorry, Dean. I freaked out.”

 

“I shouldn’t have pushed that. Shit, fire – Of course you wouldn’t be okay with fire. What do you need, Sam?”

 

“J—Just hold me,” Sam whispered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment now.

 

Dean laid them down together, stroking Sam’s hair back. He hummed quietly, trying to get Sam’s breathing back to normal.

 

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” He whispered.

 

“Don’t be, Sammy. Shit happens.”

 

“I thought I was ready. I—I didn’t expect to freak out.”

 

Dean smiled, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “It’s okay. It really is. I’m not mad, I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. We just pushed it too far. No big deal. We can try again later.”

 

Sam lifted his head slowly, meeting Dean’s gaze. “You—You wanna try again?”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, someday. I mean, that’s how you’re gonna beat this thing, right?”

 

“I guess so.” Sam put his head back on Dean’s chest, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t thank me, I’m the one that fucked tonight up.”

 

“How?” Sam asked, tracing patterns on Dean’s stomach.

 

“I should’ve thought it through. You were in Hell, I remember what Hell’s like. I should’ve realized that fire would bring back some nasty memories.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. I used to like it.”

 

“I still should have realized. It took me months to not cringe at fire when I got out and mine wasn’t as bad as yours. I’m sorry, Sammy.”

 

Sam sat up and grabbed Dean’s face, forcing him to look at him. “Neither of us realized it, Dean. Neither of us were ready for this and we both made a mistake. It doesn’t matter. I’m okay now, and so are you, right?”

 

Dean smiled softly, putting his hands loosely around Sam’s wrists. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  
Sam leaned forward, kissing Dean gently. He pressed their foreheads together. “Now how about we go take a shower together. Get this wax off me and get nice and warm, then go to bed?”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 


End file.
